That “parting for ever” was sufficient
to drive all philosophy utterly away from our hero.

“For ever, did you say, Matilda?—­no,
not for ever; yet, how coldly do you allude to a separation,
which, although I trust it will be only temporary,
is to me a source of the deepest vexation. You
did not manifest this indifference in the early part
of our conversation this evening.”

“And if there be a change,” emphatically
yet tenderly returned the beautiful American; “am
I the only one changed. Is your manner
now what it was then. Do you already
forget at what a moment that conversation was
interrupted?”

Gerald did not forget; and again, as they leaned over
the vessel’s side, his arm was passed around
the waist of his companion.

The hour, the scene, the very rippling of the water—­
all contributed to lend a character of excitement to
the feelings of the youth. Filled with tenderness
and admiration for the fascinating being who reposed
thus confidingly on his shoulder, he scarcely dared
to move, lest in so doing he should destroy the fabric
of his happiness.

Both Gerald and Matilda, although long and silently
watching the progress of the vessel, had forgotten
there was any such being as a steersman to direct
her.

“Good Heaven, can it be so late?” whispered
the American, gliding from her lover; “if my
uncle be awake, he will certainly chide me for my
imprudence. Good night, dear Gerald,” and
drawing her cloak more closely around her shoulders,
she quickly crossed the deck, and descended to the
cabin.

“What the devil’s this?” said the
relieving steersman, as, rubbing his heavy eyes with
one hand, he stooped and raised with the other something
from the deck against which he had kicked, in his
advance to take the helm; “why, I’m blest
if it arn’t the apron off old Sally here.
Have you been fingering Sall’s apron, Bill?”

“Not I, faith,” growled the party addressed,
I’ve enough to do to steer the craft without
thinking o’ meddling with Sall’s apron
at this time o’ night.”

“I should like to know who it is that has hexposed
the old gal to the night hair in this here manner,”
still muttered the other, holding up the object in
question to his closer scrutiny; “it was only
this morning I gave her a pair of bran new apron strings,
and helped to dress her myself. If she doesn’t
hang fire after this, I’m a Dutchman that’s
all.”

“What signifies jawing, Tom Fluke. I suppose
she got unkivered in the scurry after the Yankee;
but bear a hand, and kiver her, unless you wish a
fellow to stay here all night.”

Old Sal, our readers must know, was no other than
the long twenty-four pounder, formerly belonging to
Gerald’s gun-boat, which, now removed to his
new command, lay a mid ships, and mounted on a pivot,
constituted the whole battery of the schooner.
The apron was the leaden covering protecting the touch-hole,
which, having unaccountably fallen off, had encountered
the heavy foot of Tom Fluke, in his advance along
the deck.